


Tin Man

by Rollthedice



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:38:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rollthedice/pseuds/Rollthedice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither Arthur nor Eames realize their falling in love and the stakes are ruining their lives. How much longer can they last?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tin Man

“You musn't be afraid to dream a little bigger darling”

The words spun around Arthur's otherwise occupied mind, filling the tiny gaps and crevices of his own subconscious, yet he couldn't figure out why. Inside his complicated little maze of a mind cogs began whirring, voices began shouting as these 10 little words drifted along, waltzing slowly in the musty air. He tried brushing it off, repressing it, pushing it down as just another problem to deal with later. Certainly the point man had much more pressing matters to attend to, what with being shot at and all. Somehow amidst all of the chaos, the bullets that tore through the air, ripping into the very walls that encased them, Eames had walked away, discarding the grenade launcher on the floor as he crossed back to the car. Arthur found his perfectly trimmed eyebrows knitting together in a light frown before reluctantly following behind. Glancing at Saito with what could only be considered as extreme guilt. This should not have happened, had he just been more attentive or searched more thoroughly...They would have been prepared, they would have had a chance. Instead their client was dying, Cobb was furious, Yusef was agitated, Ariande looked blissfully aware of what was happening around her, and Eames was being.....Well _Eames._

Whatever guilt he did feel however for their unfortunate circumstance, he opted not to show, his face expressionless, the same blank canvas it had always been. Arthur knew he couldn’t afford to mess up again on such a fragile job as this and so he resiliently locked away the rather odd sensation of trying to figure out what Eames had meant. Well in truth Arthur knew exactly what he meant, the grenade launcher had been very good proof of that thank you very much. But something just didn’t seem right, like a puzzle that refused to fit together. With a concealed sigh Arthur shook his head, focusing instead on the job at hand.

 

That is however, until their plane landed. Arthur pushed the trolley forwards as he searched for his luggage, pausing only to give the slightest of nods to Cobb as he passed, even allowing his mouth to curve up into a smile. Dom was free, he finally got to go home and see his children....Arthur may not be an expert in happy endings, but that certainly seemed like one to him. It had been rather a long time since Arthur had seen the children and he wondered quite absent mindedly how much they had grown, if they looked anything like their father....What they remembered of Mal...

Arthur was jolted out of his thoughts by an alarmingly warm presence beside him “Where are you headed next?” The stupidly British accent inquired.  
“Eames you idiot” He hissed “We're supposed to act like we don't know each other”  
“Oh relax Darling, Fischers already left” came Eames reply as he leaned against his suitcase. Arthur sighed, hauling his luggage onto his shoulder as he turned “Away” He stated ever so simply before setting off at a brisk pace, his tight lipped mouth curving into a smirk as he heard the unmistakable sound of Eames attempting to regain his balance on a wheeled suitcase, very almost falling off.

It wasn't until Arthur had arrived at his hotel that his mind began to whir again, those same ten words repeating themselves as if commandments. Arthur frowned, seating himself of the leather sofa and leaning forwards to rest his elbows on his knees. Was it a taunt? An insult? A challenge? Or was it just simply a casual conversation piece he was completely over reacting to. Arthur didn't know, and this infuriated him. After his shockingly sub par performance on the Fischer job (So he tells himself, though everyone else is of the general belief he performed expertly) He felt rather wounded that there was something he couldn't figure out, taking such a failure personally.

His mind reels back to an earlier conversation with Cobb, where he had practically begged for him not to involve Eames on the job. It's not that Arthur didn't trust the older man, in truth he knew Eames was one of the best, if not the best forger out there. It's just that he couldn’t _stand him_. The constant teasing, taunting, pet names, cooing, and generally trying to win gold medal at the _who-can-annoy-Arthur-the-most_ Olympics. But Cobb had admitted something that caught him off guard upon his return, Arthur's expressionless face twisting into one of surprise as Cobb stated rather plainly that Eames called Arthur the 'best' at what he does. Even if the following statement was an accusation that he had no imagination.

He couldn't help but scoff at that, maybe he wasn't wild, or as creative as the general public, but he wielded quite an extensive imagination, and he was glad of it too for it was the only reason he thought to use the elevator as a kick in a hotel with no gravity. But still, Arthur's head was still reeling over the rather normal compliment, something seemed off about it....Eames was never known to compliment Arthur unless Arthur was in the room, it was one of his key methods of annoyance. 

Allowing himself to let out an exasperated sigh Arthur lifted himself from the sofa and crossed the pristine floorboards to the bedroom, discarding of his suit and hanging it up neatly, not a single hair out of place. After a while he settled down on the bed and waited for sleep to arrive.

Four hours passed, and sleep did not come. Were he any other man he might have tried chasing it, but he knew that it simply didn't want to be caught. Instead he just lay there staring at the cracks in the ceiling, taking into account the dark green of the wallpaper, the faded brown of the carpet, Eames was wearing a jacket of a similar colour just yester-

Arthur caught himself before he could finish his thought, shaking his head in confusion _“That was weird...”_ He found himself muttering and he rolled over, anxious to change his train of thought. The sheets below were white and crisp, much like the shirt Eames had been wearing after Arthur forced him to get it laundered and ironed, I mean who would seriously enter a business meeting with a very powerful man like Saito in creased clothing?

Eames would.

Arthur couldn't bear this any longer, he shot up from bed and switched the light on, the bright light blinding him for a brief moment. For the next few hours he mindlessly paced the hotel room, retracing his footsteps until he knew exactly how many steps away each room was. He was rather enjoying the distraction when the phone rang, it's vibrant echoing sound startling him slightly as he crossed the room to pick it up. Exactly 9 steps, as expected.

“Morning Darling” Came the British drawl from the other end of the line.  
“Oh for gods sake...” Arthur muttered, annoyed at how is was seemingly impossible to escape him.  
“It's good to hear from you too” Eames chuckled “I knew you would be awake”  
“Awake?” Arthur mused, glancing as his watch “Eames what in gods name are you doing calling me at five O clock in the morning?”  
“Can an old friend not want to catch up?” Eames said, Arthur snarled at the fucking _smile_ he knew Eames was doing right now.  
“How did you get this number?” He asked wearily.  
“Don't sound so surprised” Eames said in mock hurt “I'm not as stupid as you think”  
“I don't think you're...” But he trailed off, shaking his head in annoyance “What do you want?”  
“Arthur are you aware of emotions?” Eames asked, pointedly ignoring Arthur’s question.  
“I...What?”  
“Emotions Darling, you know...Feelings” Eames drawled, clearly enjoying this far more than he had any right to.  
“What has this got to do with anything?” Arthur growled into the mouth piece.  
“Well you just seem so unable to feel anything, you're like a robot”  
For a moment their was silence on the line, that was however disturbed by Eames and a delighted squeal “Oh my god you're like the tin man from the wizard of Oz!”  
“Oh god...” Arthur groaned.  
“So Dorothy..”  
“I thought you said I was the tin man”  
“Whatever pet, same movie same thing”  
“You're unbelievable, did you really call just to say that?”  
“Course not!” Eames chimed “There's a job in New York, you up to it?  
“Will you stop calling me tin man?”  
“.....Yes” Eames said reluctantly.  
“Okay then...I'll be there in two days”  
“Right! Ta ta Dorothy!” Eames laughed, quickly ending the call before Arthur could protest.

Jesus fucking Christ. Why Eames was hell bent on annoying him Arthur didn't know, all he knew was that for whatever unfathomable reason, he couldn't stop thinking about him, couldn't stop the churning twisting feeling in his stomach when he heard his voice. He didn't understand it at all, mostly because he was trying to understand the wrong thing. _Tin man_. He thought to himself with an air of amusement, the title did seem rather fitting. Most men knew better than to try and get inside Arthur's head, try to understand him in all his complexities. Out of the ones that did try however the only one who survived unscathed was Cobb, and even he had barely scratched the surface. Arthur was more....Complex than your average human being. He thought differently, judged himself on how useful he was to the team and nothing else. Arthur who would rather have his intestines ripped out with a pair of rusty pliers than see a friend in danger, Arthur who cuts everyone off from him. Arthur who hides behind a mask of zero expression. Arthur who couldn't give two shits about his own safety, having once completed a job with a bullet lodged in his chest which the others hadn't found out about until the blood got a teeny bit out of control. Safe to say they were pretty pissed at him, not understanding why until Cobb screamed in his face for a full ten minutes and then proceeded to lecture him on the difference between being a hero and being stupid once they were back in reality.

In truth Arthur didn't want anyone to pry into his life, learn his ways, _understand_ him. And so if Eames wanted to consider him a tin man, a robot...So be it. It was far better than the alternative.

And yet he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, a desire to...Apologize to the British man, what for? Maybe he could find something...There had to be something....There had to be a reason..

-/-

Eames rolled off the bed, stretching his arms as a loud yawn erupted from his chest, somewhere on the floor lay the phone he had used to call Arthur last night, a decision he had been working up towards for three hours prior to the call. An unmoveable lump tightening in his throat as he talked into the mouthpiece, something seemed different about Arthur's usually icy pensive tone, he seemed almost...glad to hear Eames, which made absolutely no bloody sense. Given that Arthur is more likely to run into speeding traffic than spend an hour talking to him.

Nevertheless he knew Arthur would take up the job, that steel nut hates sitting around twiddling his thumbs. It was a simple enough job, really simple actually, finding out who Company X had invested in rather than Company Y. They didn't really need someone of Arthur's talent, any shcmuck could pull this one level job off, but Eames needed Arthur there all the same. He didn't even know why he was bothering with the job himself, but the overly large check in his jeans pocket reminded him of the answer straight away.

“Two days...” He muttered to himself seemingly annoyed that Arthur wasn't already by his side, though he can't blame him for that, the point man isn't a wizard after all. Eames already has most of the information on the target, though no doubt Arthur will scan through it and point out a mistake within the first five seconds. But that hardly mattered, after all Eames speciality was learning about the person he was intending on forging, learning their ways, their mannerisms, no matter how small. Arthur once said he was impressed and offered him a slight smile. That stupid fucking smile with it's stupid dimples that changed everything, that smile was the end of Eames seeing Arthur as someone who was immensely fun to annoy but who also had a stick so far up his ass it was like a flag pole, a damn good point man, but one who he never got on with famously. To someone he wanted to get on with better than the stars get on with the moon, he wanted to make him smile...properly, to see those dimples, was it love? Nah...Couldn't be. Mr Eames does not fall in love. People fall in love with him, and he leaves. That’s the way it's always been. Nah...This was more of a crush (though he rather hated that word) it was a damn sight better than love, love only means someone getting hurt, oh how he so wanted this to not be love.

-/-

Arthur disembarked the plane, stretching out his legs from the cramped seats. Saito had offered him a private jet which he politely declined, he had no need of a private jet. A regular plane would get him to New York and that’s all he needed, no use in the fancy champagne and reclining chairs and floating aquariums or whatever the hell you get on those things.

After squeezing through the gradually thickening crowds and emerging unruffled outside the doors to the airport, the air heavy with cigarette smoke, he hailed a taxi, succeeding in flagging one down before the service was swarmed.

In a few short minutes he was standing inside his hotel room, Key card slipped into his pocket and his single bag placed by the door. Just as he turned to flip the kettle on his phone vibrated in his pocket, Arthur raised his eyebrow as he skimmed the text “Get here okay?” Which was odd enough in itself, Since when did Eames text him regarding his safety? Arthur could never remember receiving a text like this from anyone after taking a very safe plane with a very capable pilot. He quickly tapped out a response “Yes.” Nothing else seemed to need to be said. A few minutes silence followed as Arthur slowly stirred his coffee, being somewhat relieved to feel another vibration.

“Saw this earlier, reminded me of you” attached was a single picture of an unopened tin can. Arthur couldn't help but smile, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly until- No. He stopped himself in the act, frowning as he cleared his throat. “Hilarious Eames, don't you have work to do?”  
“Done it” Came the quick response, causing Arthur to roll his eyes.  
“See you tomorrow Mr Eames.” Arthur replied before slipping the phone away, staring blankly at the mug in front of him, what was it he was doing again?

-/-

Eames flipped the coin in his deft fingers, staring at the door as if it might come alive at any moment. It wasn't like Arthur to be late, even by a few minutes. Not that he was worried, no not at all, it wasn't as if he was silently mapping all nearby hospitals in his head. He knew Arthur was more than capable of looking after himself, but that didn't stop the sigh of relief as the door swung open, and there he stood. The same Arthur he remem-

But no...He wasn't, the well pressed suit was the same, the immaculate waistcoat and tailored trousers, the same slicked back hair, the same sharp angles of his face that was all very Arthur. But it was the little things that caught Eames attention, the bags under his eyes; darkened, deep, as if he hadn't slept in weeks. The dark desolate...dead eyes that stared straight back at him, the slouch in his shoulders he immediately straightened out, as if he were somewhat self conscious.  
“Sorry I'm late” Arthur said curtly, crossing the room in a few quick strides. Nicholas (Their extractor) glanced up at the clock before offering Arthur a wide smile, _He hadn't even noticed_...Eames thought to himself.

Arthur pulled out a chair, searching for the pitifully small folder on their target on the crowded desk. Having successfully found and extracted it he sat down, flipping it open. Eames waited almost eagerly for the corrections to come rolling out, but to his surprise, none came. With his eyebrow raised Eames turned to face Arthur, whose silence was a mere marvel. What he didn't expect however, was that Arthur wasn't even looking at the folder, but was looking at him instead, the point man's dark brown eyes staring into his own, and he could _swear_ he saw the hint of a smile before the look was suddenly broken and Arthur seemed to be ever so interested in whatever the folder was telling him, so much so that Eames almost didn’t notice the point man's cheeks looking slightly flustered, the backs of his ears tinged red.

It came almost as a relief when promptly five seconds later Arthur scoffed, muttered something about uselessness and threw the folder back onto the table. “I will be back tomorrow with the full document” He stated rather simply before standing up and all but rushing towards the exit, pointedly ignoring Eames as he passed.

 

The next day Arthur returned, true to his word with a much more satisfying folder, and much darker bags underneath his eyes. He spent the first part of the morning in quiet bliss, nothing but the distant warble of birds and the faint roar of traffic. Not even the sound of another’s breath filled the room to annoy him. He glanced up at the clock that hung lop sidedly on the wall, noting he still had half an hour of solitude.

Or so he thought.

Approximately 10 minutes later his train of thought was thrown off the rails by the sudden arrival of a body on his desk, he looked up in surprise to see Eames staring thoughtfully at him.

“Do you mind getting off my desk?” Arthur sighed, feeling a lump in his throat rise threateningly  
“You haven't been sleeping” Eames said, ignoring Arthur's question. The point man could only blink in response, somewhat unable to think of what to say. He didn't seem to need to however as Eames chose that moment to move away, crossing the warehouse and busying himself with his own work. Arthur couldn't shake the feeling that Eames was watching him from across the room.

 

_“Only one layer of dream state?” Arthur asked, looking at the whiteboard_  
 _“Yes, it's a simple extraction” Nicholas replied._  
 _“Nothing is ever this simple”_  
 _“Oh I'm sorry Arthur” Eames piped in “Is this job not complicated enough for you?”_  
 _“Eames that’s not what I-”_  
 _“We would love to have his highness Arthur come along with us on our merry adventure”_  
 _Arthur could only scowl at him, folding his arms across his chest._

 

-/-

 

They had two days before the job, two days of furious planning and gallons of coffee, two days of bloodshot eyes and worried glances. Two days of two men hiding from themselves behind masks and words, both afraid of what they might find behind the others eyes.

Arthur sat in the chaos of his hotel room, clothes bundled on the floor he hadn't bothered to put away, unwashed dishes lingering in the sink, some useless garbage on the television he wasn't quite paying attention to. This is what he liked, organised chaos. Something he could control, part of him he never had to change. Behind the curtains and red tape, crisp suits and clipped personality, resided _this_. A free space, a safe space, comforting and everything that wasn't ever so _Arthur._

So lost was he in his own mind he barely heard the lock of his hotel door snap with a click. He barely had time to reach for the gun safely nestled in the back of his trousers before it was knocked out of his hands and he was tackled to the floor. Arthur growled, wrenching his hand back and sending it flying into his attackers face, the satisfying crack of knuckles against bone interrupted by a voice.

 _“Bloody fuck Arthur!”_ the man on top of him groaned, his British accent causing the smaller man to freeze.

_Shit._

Eames leant against the the sofa, nursing his bruised face as Arthur climbed to his feet, his infamous temper beginning to rise. He threw Eames an ice pack and paced up and down his hallway, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“You've got one heck of a swing Arthur” Eames said, looking up at him.  
“Fuck you.” Arthur muttered “What are you doing here?”  
“Well my dear robot, you can't blame me for being concerned with the way you've been acting lately”  
Arthur glared at him, angry for Eames to have witnessed him in such a state  
“By the way Darling, I like what you've done with the place” Eames said, gesturing to the mess that littered the floor.  
“Shut up” Arthur snarled, leaning against the wall with a sigh.

For a few moments there was silence, not the comfortable silence Arthur often craved, but something else altogether. The very air hung heavy with unsaid words and undone deeds. 

“I'm sorry” Eames said somewhat sadly as he stood up, ripping through the silence that enveloped them. “I was just...It's...You..”  
“It's okay.” Arthur found himself saying, and to his surprise....He meant it.  
Slowly Eames crossed the room, sitting down in one of the three comfortable chairs in the middle of the room.

“What's wrong Arthur?” He said softly, as if afraid of startling him  
“Nothing.” he said, looking anywhere but Eames's accusing stare  
“Arthur...” He repeated slowly

That was it, that was all it took. That voice. That pure concern wrapped tightly in what was left of their façade, of their lethal little dance. Arthur couldn't bear it any more, the sleepless nights, the ruthless thoughts that plagued him, haunting him behind his eyes. He sunk down the wall until he was sat against it, his knees pulled close to his chest as he buried his face in his hands. That voice was all it took for him to realise what was happening to him, why he couldn't eat, why he couldn't sleep. The walls he had built were crumbling down and a tidal wave of emotion was breaking free. Suddenly a warm presence collapsed next to him and he felt himself wrapped in Eames's arms, not having the energy to fight back he sank into his grip, allowing the forger to gently run his hands through his hair, whispering soothing words in his ear.

“It's you” He said quietly through the buzzing of his thoughts “It's you and your god awful clothes and your stupid smile and your fucking _everything_ ” Arthur said, clenching his fists to his chest “I just can't any more Eames I just can't play this game any more I just _cant”_  
 _“Shh Darling it's okay”_ Eames said softly, pressing his lips to Arthur's forehead _“It's okay”_

Eames looked at him, not with the eyes of someone who has seen too much in his lifetime, but someone who wants to see more. Someone who wants to see more organised chaos, more dimpled smiles, more crisp suits and slicked hair. The tin man didn't need a heart, he had one all along. All he needed was a little oil, and a little patience.

And with that Eames kissed him, there was no fighting for dominance, no desperate need or wandering hands. Just the two of them in this one moment, perfectly molded to each other. Who knows what might come next, what challenges they may face.

All Eames knew, is what he knew all along. That he was in love, and that all he needed, was that little bit of patience.


End file.
